Reverse Cold War
by Curbstompd
Summary: How the Cold War played out between the Republic of Russia and the United Socialist States of America. Communist!Yandere!America, Capitalist!Hero!Russia, rated T for blood, cursing, etc. Alternate history.
1. Prologue: World War One

The Reverse Cold War

Prologue: World War One

During World War One, the self-proclaimed 'hero,' Russia, wished for neutrality. He didn't like wars, especially not ones involving massive stalemates that could not be broken.

His isolationist attitude annoyed the Allies to no end. Britain, France, and the American Empire kept pestering him to join the war. But (although 'the hero' would never admit it to anyone) he was scared. Scared that he would lose himself in the quagmire of Western politics.

His factories were envied across the world, by East and West alike. His population was a melting pot of people who had escaped their countries to find freedom in Russia.

But he faced one of the hardest choices of his life. Britain had recently come to him with a note written in Germny's handwriting: the Zimmerman Telegraph.

It was offering Ukraine, _his sister,_ large portions of Russian territory if she revolted against him. Natually, she had refused, but why han't she come to him? He was hurt, and somewhat scared. What else could his sisters be hiding from him?

Russia shook the thought from his head and picked up the telephone on his desk. It was a hotline straight to England's house in London.

"England?" Russia asked in his loud, flamboyant voice.

"Is that you, Russia?"

"Yeah. I just wanted to tell you that I am joining the Allied Powers."

England sounded almost surprised. "Really?"

Rusia put on his famous 'hero' grin, even though England was a thousand miles away and couldn't see. "Hell yes! I am the hero, da?"

xxxx

During World War One, the Empire of America snapped. He had been fighting for the Allies for ages, and the slaughterhouse of the American and Western Fronts were wearing him down. Having to send troops to help England and France fight Germany WHILE holding Canada back at his border was just too hard.

So, he snapped. That snap took the form of the Glorious September Revolution. America had always been slightly insane since his independence from England, but as he watched the blood of his Emperor, his old leader, spread across the aluminum surface of his baseball bat, something in his eyes told the world that this new America wanted blood. He wanted death.

For ten years, a civil war raged between White and Red Armies across his lands. Washington, New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, Boston, Philadelphia, most of his major cities lay in ruins. Millions of his people had died. And even as this civil war raged, he withdrew from World War One, being forced to pay millions in reparations to Canada.

But, when the guns finally fell silent, the Red side of America had prevailed. His clothes were stained with the blood of his own people, his glasses were cracked and askew on his face, and he was injured everywhere. But the new superpower, the United Socialist States of America, knew that his time would come.

He plotted revenge. And he knew that he would get it.

Quietly, he began to utter the verbal tic that sent chills down the spines of almost all the nations of the world. A tic that often signaled the end of a nation at the hands of his baseball bat.

"_Wamwamwamwamwamwam..."_


	2. Chapter One: Victory in Britain Day

England stumbled through the smoldering ruins of London. His chest was on fire, hurting in a way that only came about when a nation's capital, its heart, was destroyed. _How? How did we lose? We were atop the world! How did we lose? How did we..._

He fell to his knees, clutching his aching heart. All the other Axis countries had been defeated. _Germany... Japan... Canada... Italy..._

And where had resistance got him? Where had being the last fascist country left put him? All it had accomplished was to have Russia drop a couple of atomic bombs on him.

England was about to stand up again when he was suddenly surrounded.

It was them, the hated Allies.

Russia, his idiotic grin plastered across his face. Finland, looking a bit uncomfortable at the destruction around him. Poland, in one of his stupid miniskirts. China, ready for battle in a fighting stance. The communist bastard, America, with his bloodstained baseball bat and creepy smile.

England glared at Russia. "Hero, my arse. You did this."

Russia's smile melted away. "I did what I had to, England," he said in an uncharacteristically quiet voice. "I would do it again if I had to."

"Are you going to surrender, or do I have to add some more pretty red stains to my bat?" America asked.

The other Allies stared at him with distaste.

England coughed into his arm, and a bit of blood spattered his sleeve. "You all make me sick." He took a deep breath. "All right, fine. You win. I surrender. Happy now?"

There was silence as the Allies processed this. Then all hell broke loose.

Russia grabbed Finland's hands and started spinning his friend around and around. "YEAH! WE WON! WE WON!"

Finland grinned. "Yeah!"

Russia let go and began doing a cossack dance, squatting low and kicking his legs out in impossible directions.

America simply smiled creepily and wiped his bloodstained baseball bat off with a cloth.

China pounded Russia and Poland on the back, while Poland said, "Oh my god, like, I sooo can't believe we won!"

England ignored their happy antics, instead opting to slump against a wall. The pain in his heart and on his arm where the atomic bombs had struck London and Manchester was aching. The Eastern Allies were too busy to notice as America grasped England by the shoulder. "England, my friend. I think you should come with me."

England tried to resist, but the pain in his chest was too great. America picked him up like a rag doll and carried him out of the light, away from the celebrating Eastern Allies. He smiled his creepy smile. _One more country to become one with me! _


	3. Chapter Two: Disunited Nations

It was 1949, and the five victorious nations were meeting to divide up the spoils of war. Never before had a meeting of the UN Security Council been so strained and tense, however.

Finland, China, and Poland sat close together, watching the two superpowers glare at each other across the long conference table. The staring contest had been going on since the beginning of the meeting, and it was showing no signs of letting up.

Russia's violet eyes actually looked angry for once, and he was periodically clenching and unclenching his massive hands like he wanted to leap across the table and punch America right in the face.

Across the mahogany surface, America had a trademark childish smile plastered all over his face. Poland, who had the misfortune to be in the chair next to him, was quaking slightly and inching his seat slowly away from the Western nation.

The silence in the room was such that a pin dropping would have blown out the metaphorical eardrums of every country in the room. Then Russia, finally unable to cope with sitting still for so long, cleared his throat. "You said you would let their people choose their own governments."

America smiled. "That I did."

"But you and your boss annexed Canada and installed communist governments in Mexico, Japan, and Western Europe without holding any elections, da?"

America's smile widened by a few molars, and he even giggled a bit. "That we did."

Russia's frown deepened. "So you did exactly what you said you _weren't_ going to do."

America giggled again, and his blue eyes widened in mock surprise. "But Russia! They can't choose their bosses themselves! Haven't the Axis proved that already?"

Russia shot to his feet. "Американская свинья!" he yelled, pointing a finger at the Communist country. "Mexico wasn't in the Axis! Neither was Spain or France or Belgium or Netherlands or Norway!"

America snickered at his rival's outburst. "You're forgetting Portugal and Sweden, da?"

"Argh!" Russia smashed his fist onto the table, leaving cracks in the wood. "You commie bastard! We had an agreement!"

America's smile shrank. "Well, if you can't see the benefits of communism brought on by me, I think that I have no further business here." He slowly stood up, grabbing his baseball bat and straightening the Red Air Force bomber coat he wore. "Have fun with your little capitalist meeting."

Russia and the Allies stared, dumbfounded, as America sardonically tipped an imaginary hat and walked out.

"Ivan... What do you think he's going to do?" Finland asked worriedly. Russia, still staring at the door that America had walked through, slowly lowered his tall frame into a chair and let out a long breath.

"I wish I could tell you, Tino, but I just don't know."

The Allies grimly looked at each other, coming to a silent conclusion.

They could not afford to let America win.

* * *

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**A/N: Thank you all for the wonderful notes and feedback! Now I shall answer questions.**

**FallingStar17: I thought it would be interesting to see how it would play out, especially because of territorial differences. It's going to have a very different outcome from the actual Cold War, as well.**

**Love-for-bakas: No, they still have the same lands (with territorial differences. For example, in this universe, America owns Cuba and the Baltics are independent of Russia.)**

**PokemontrainerNelly: Well, it was like this. **

**WWI: England, France, Empire of America, and Russia versus Germany, an expansionist Canada, a slightly cracked Italy, and Austria-Hungary. **

**WWII: Russia, Finland, China, Poland, and the USSA versus Germany, an even _more_ cracked Italy, Fascist Canada, Japan, and Fascist England. (France was defeated by Germany and England in the first few weeks of the war back in 1939. Sorry if that confuses you even more... I'm pretty bad at explanations.)**

**Kitty the Dinosquirrel: You are correct, although I think a more innocent Russia in this story would be more fitting (though he still pervs on China, wink wink). America still thinks he's the hero. And he's also WORSE on the yandere scale than our universe's Russia, if you can imagine that. And I'm glad America's tic made you laugh~!**

**Again, THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH for the wonderful feedback! And I will try to update as often as I can, but with school and all, it might be hard. For the next update, there will be this universe's analogue to the Korean War: the Italian War, featuring some Snapped!Feliciano!**


	4. Chapter Three: The Italian War Part I

**Oh god oh god I'm so sorry this took so long oh god oh god...**

**Sorry about that. Well, as promised, here's the update showing the Italian War (1950-1953) between North and South Italy.**

**Feli's speech in the first part is inspired by a cutscene from the Swedish game World In Conflict (My little brother plays it like crazy, at top volume, so my hearing this particular cutscene was kind of an accident) which I thought would be perfect for this scene. All I can say is, Su-San had a pretty dark imagination when he came up with the game. While you're reading the speech scene, try to imagine scary army music blaring in the background. **

**I do not own APH or World in Conflict. **

June 25, 1950

Terni, Democratic People's Republic of Italy

0600 Hours

The sun was slowly rising over the city of Terni, Italy, giving an orange glow to the buildings and trees. On the northern side of the border between North and South Italy, a flurry of activity was taking place.

Radios blared patriotic music, soldiers joked and laughed, and flags flew. The air was one of tension, and yet of confidence and determination.

Through the midst of it all, a short man in royal blue combat fatigues strode confidently through the crowd of troops. As he passed by a nearby lieutenant whom he had met during World War II, he raised his hand in greeting.

"Ve! Welcome back, Cesare!" he said, smiling in his usual carefree way. "How was your leave?"

The Italian officer returned the greeting with a wave and a yell of, "Boring!"

Feliciano Vargas laughed good-naturedly. "Ve! But necessary, Comrade Cimitelli! Those recruits will soon be needed to serve the Dear Leader and Italia!" He turned away and continued his walk towards the town square where most of the soldiers in that particular battalion were concentrated.

"_Compagni!"_ His yell commanded the soldiers' attention instantly, and the Italian People's Army snapped to attention and saluted the flesh-and-blood manifestation of their country.

"_It's good to see you all here today!"_ He strode around the square, animating his speech with energetic hand gestures. _"And it will be even better to see you soon BREAKING THROUGH THAT BORDER!"_

This was met by a loud cheer as dozens of North Italians raised their American rifles and roared their approval.

Feliciano smiled, raising his voice even more. _"And we'll teach those Southern dogs how to fight!"_ There was a louder cheer as North Italy climbed the turret of a tank and stood before his troops, the rising sun seeming to give him an aura of power and resolve.

"_The Russians and the Southern traitors thought that they could bully us into submission! They thought that we would give way and fall!"_

To the North Italian troops below him, Vargas's eyes glinted with madness and insanity, and in their bloodlust and patriotic fervor, the expression on the face of their nation only stirred them up more into a frenzy of conquest and war.

"_BUT TODAY, WE SHOW THEM THAT THE PEOPLE'S ARMY BOWS TO **NO ONE**!"_

North Italy slashed his hands through the air, and then stepped forward to the edge of the tank's turret.

"_Today, we'll show them the unstoppable might of __**ITALIA!"**_

As Vargas's speech reached its climax, and as the Northern battalion cheered and roared, a squadron of jets flew overhead, painted in the North Italian colors, streaking south to begin the attack.

North Italy saluted the jets, then turned to his troops. "VE! GET TO YOUR VEHICLES, MEN! WE'RE GOING TO WAR!"

The sound of a hundred engines starting up at once filled the courtyard, along with the sound of tramping boots and bombastic military music.

On June 25, 1950, the Italian War began.

!_!_!_!_!_!

Three Months Later

Agropoli, South Italy

Lovino Vargas had had many names in his lifetime. Naples, Sicily, Spanish territory, Romano. But his new name, Republic of Italy, was not entirely true.

For he was not the entire Italian peninsula, and he was no longer living with his brother. He was just South Italy, a country only independent thanks to the shadowy, covert struggles between Russia and America.

He was hunched forward, shivering, as rain splattered against his military helmet. In the trench to the right and left of him, the battered, demoralized remnants of his army were doing the same. They were fingering rosaries, writing in diaries, or simply sitting on ammo boxes and benches. They were surrounded, with no way out. It seemed there was nothing they could do but die.

South Italy's head snapped up as he heard a familiar sound, one that was completely unwelcome to his ears: the shrieking, whining noise of incoming artillery shells. From his _brother's_ artillery guns.

"Get ready, you stupid bastards!" Lovino yelled. He had never been very good at fighting, but he had had to learn _very_ quickly in the past year. There was a great rustling and clattering as the South Italians rushed under the sheltered lip of the trench.

They waited with bated breath as the shrieking grew louder and louder and closer and closer and

BOOOOM!

A massive shower of dirt flew into the air a few yards away from Lovino as the first shell landed. He shrank back, praying to God above that his dugout would survive the attack.

More shells landed nearby, and the shrieks of the wounded began to mix with the deafening roar of explosions.

Lovino could feel the deaths of his men in his gut, like a stab to the belly every time a shell hit its mark. He felt tears slide slowly down his face as the barrage refused to let up.

For twenty hellish minutes of screams and pain, the trenches were bombarded mercilessly. Finally, the guns went silent, and the barrage petered out. One year ago, Lovino would have breathed a sigh of relief. But he now knew what came after the artillery.

"Everyone on the edge! Get going!"

Rifles were raised, machine guns were loaded, and the surviving South Italians popped their heads above the edge of the trenches so they could shoot. Lovino stared down the sights of his weapon, waiting.

Then _he_ burst forth from the smoke, clad in his blue military uniform. Behind him came what seemed like the entire Italian People's Army.

"Fire!" Lovino cried, pulling the trigger.

As one, the South Italian Army began to shoot. The harsh staccato of machine guns added to the CRACK of rifles and the deafening BOOMs of artillery, creating a terrible symphony that tore into South Italy's ears.

The first row of North Italians was cut down like wheat before a scythe, but their comrades simply stepped over their corpses and continued running forwards. And _he_ continued to walk almost calmly, twirling his knife in his fingers. Three bullets hit him, but they harmlessly passed through his body as if they were made of air.

Then _he_ was in the sky, spiraling downwards, his knife a slashing silver arc. There was a scream, and a South Italian soldier fell backwards as the blade pierced his chest.

Feliciano Vargas, also known as the Democratic People's Republic of Italy, yanked his blade from the dying man's body and turned to face his older brother. His amber eyes bored straight into Lovino's hazel ones, and he began to walk forward as if in a trance. An unfortunate South Italian bravely tried to stop him. Feliciano smashed the poor man's helmet and his skull in without a second glance.

Lovino raised his rifle and took careful aim. _Can't miss can't miss can't-_ He pulled the trigger, and the rifle bucked against his shoulder. It would have hit Feliciano straight between the eyes, but Feliciano's head was no longer where it had been. He flashed forward with unnerving speed, slashing downwards with his knife.

Lovino brought up his bayonet, barely blocking the strike. There was a _clang_ as the two blades met.

"Ve! Dammit, Lovi! Die already!" Feliciano spat, slashing again.

Lovino had no intention of doing so. He deflected his brother's blade, and then struck back with the butt of his rifle. Feliciano grabbed it with one hand, ripped it out of Lovino's grasp, and broke it over his knee.

South Italy backed up fast, fruitlessly drawing his combat knife. North Italy knocked it to the ground in seconds and pounced on him, raising his blade.

"Italy... mine... All mine..."

There was the roar of a gunshot, and Feliciano's blade suddenly disappeared in a cloud of sparks. North Italy stared at the owner of the gun in shock. "R-Russia!" he shrieked.

"GET OFFA HIM, NORTH ITALY!" Russia yelled. He was flanked by Finland and Poland. All three of them were holding weapons. "I said, GET OFF!" Russia raised his pistol.

Feliciano snarled and leaped away. Finland and Russia chased after him, while Poland helped Lovino up. "Like, oh my god, are you okay, Lovi?"

"Get off me, bastard!" Lovino roared. "And don't call me Lovi!"

"Yeah, you're _so_ totally okay."

The two nations ran after Ivan and Tino, who were in turn pursuing Feliciano. In a few seconds, Lovino and Feliks had joined the chase.

"Good to see you alive, da?" Russia grinned happily at South Italy as they ran after the North.

"Ah, shut up, vodka bastard."

The war was not over yet, and North Italy was far from defeated, but South Italy had been saved.

**Phew... Longest update yet...**

**I have to thank my brother for helping me figure out how combat scenes work, 'cause I had no idea how they happen.**


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